


What Kind of Man Do You Think I Am?

by Usedtobehmc



Series: Life After the War [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Collars, Fingerfucking, Gags, M/M, Multi, Spanking, Spy fantasizes about stuff, and lots of other things so yeah, cross-dressing, for example
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy never used to think about these things, and it scares him a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Kind of Man Do You Think I Am?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in class. While drunk. What is my life.

Spy used to consider himself above the baser instincts of the rough-and-tumble, uneducated teammates he finds himself saddled with of late.  They are crass and simple: living examples of the lowest common denominator concept.  They don't know opera, they don't know wine, they are completely averse to proper table manners… half of them don't even wash properly.

Spy speaks 5 languages, dresses only in the finest suits, keeps up with international politics and can cook a world-class steak in the comfort of his impeccably decorated kitchen.  He is refined, high-class, complex and discerning.  

He cannot think of a man more his opposite than Sniper.

And Sniper brings out parts of Spy's personality that he thought hadn't existed until it drove him to distraction.

He wants to do… _messy_ things to that tall, scruffy assassin.  Dirty, unseemly things.  Perverted, even.  Ideas occur to him in the night: frighteningly detailed and vivid, blazing across his brain in technicolor.  He wonders where these desires have been hiding all these years.  Perhaps tucked away in dank, hidden recesses of his brain.  Who or what had placed them there?  Surely he hadn't invented them himself; plucked them from the clear, blue sky.  And yet they are somehow obvious and comfortable in his mind while at the same time new and completely unfamiliar.

And that's what shocks him and pulls him out of his comfort zone.  He _questions_ himself now. 

He wants to tie Sniper face-down to the front of his ridiculous van and spank his ass red. 

He wants to stuff Sniper's mouth with an expensive silk handkerchief and listen to his muffled cries through the fabric. 

He wants to put Sniper in a collar (something heavy and made of leather) and guide him around the bedroom on a leash.  Make him beg like a dog.

He wants to bind Sniper's hands behind him and dress him in a short skirt that will bunch around his waist as he bounces on Spy's cock.

He wants to plunge his fingers into Sniper's ass and brutally fingerfuck him until he screams.

He wants to get Sniper on his knees and paint the man's face white with come.  Use his cock to smear it across Sniper's lips and cheeks, maybe give him a few smacks on the nose with his hard cock.

He wants to drip hot wax on Sniper's most sensitive of parts and watch him jerk and twitch and cry out in pain even as he careens into an orgasm startling enough to make him scream.

In the dark of night, Spy even imagines _other_ men fucking Sniper: using his body while Spy observes with a wicked expression of amusement.  Two, three, maybe even four hulking brutes that would pin Sniper down and fuck his throat and ass, jerk his cock and bind his hands or force his legs far apart to accommodate them.  Overpowering him.  Dominating him.

Mother of _God_.  He's never thought these things about a lover before.  What does this mean?  What is it about Sniper?  What is it about _himself_?

Refined men should not think these things, especially not so often that it affects sleep. Spy has nothing against a bit of kink, something new and maybe a little dangerous in the bedroom.  But this is a bit much.

It's unsettling to have so many different and elaborate scenarious occur to him in such a short time frame.  Spy doesn't like that his rock-solid self image is twisting and warping under the weight of these fantasies and daydreams.  He doesn't want to be filthy, base and animalistic.  He's never considered himself to be anything but… sophisticated.  Cool and unaffected.  Not _vanilla_ by any means, but certainly not _sadistic_.  At least, not in the bedroom.  Not so… messy.

And yet, the evidence against him is obvious and damning and unavoidable.  

 _Not so refined, eh?  Pervert.  Filthy man.  Dirty little deviant._  His brain sneers.  

And that only scares him half as much as the suspicion that Sniper… might actually enjoy all of the ideas he cooks up in his fevered brain.

 

The idea that they may even be perfectly matched in this regard is utterly terrifying.

 

 

. 


End file.
